


Harp, Hoop, and Floss

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Multi, Sibling Incest, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13002330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: In here, Daena’s body is Rhaena’s harp, Elaena’s body is Daena’s hoop and floss, Rhaena is their canvas and bliss their paint. Here, they’ve learned each other inside and out, they’ve studied pleasure as other ladies might study literature or courtly intrigue. It is far from what their brother intended when he locked them in the Maidenvault to keep all from temptation, but then Baelor always had more ideas than he had wits.





	Harp, Hoop, and Floss

**Author's Note:**

> From the thekinksidoforlove kinkmeme prompt: _Daena/Rhaena/Elaena in the Maidenvault - Baelor the Blessed locks up his sisters to keep them from physical temptation. It... backfires slightly._

“I believe I shall become a septa.”

Daena laughs, despite the pleasure unfurling through her limbs that drugs her into languid placidity; hard not to laugh, when Rhaena says such a thing while her fingers are inside Daena, bringing her that intoxicating pleasure. Surely more than one septa has succumbed to the joys of feminine flesh while in her sisterhood, but, Daena thinks, few must indulge so beforehand and still wish to join the ranks of celibacy.

Rhaena knows just how to touch her, just how to pet and stroke and tease. She’d learned at Daena’s cunt, after all, so why shouldn’t she ply it with the same skill a lady might ply a harp or a needle? In here, Daena’s body is Rhaena’s harp, Elaena’s body is Daena’s hoop and floss, Rhaena is their canvas and bliss their paint. Here, they’ve learned each other inside and out, they’ve studied pleasure as other ladies might study literature or courtly intrigue. It is far from what their brother intended when he locked them in the Maidenvault to keep all from temptation, but then Baelor always had more ideas than he had wits.

“You would be wasted on a septa,” she tells her sister, stretching into her touch. Elaena is tucked beneath her arm, her cheek pillowed on Daena’s breast and her hand tracing patterns over Daena’s rib and belly, the ticklish sensation an arousing counterpoint to the firm pressure of Rhaena’s touch. 

Rhaena looks up, giving Daena a wicked grin as she twists and crooks her fingers inside her. “I would be wasted on a husband,” she says before lowering her mouth, tongue delicately extended to part, to delve, to tease, and Daena can only concede the point.

Daena sinks into the pleasure. She no longer remembers how or when all this began; she only knows that once it had, it was as if they’d been as such forever, one more thing they shared, she and Rhaena, with Elaena eternally trailing along in their wake like the last duckling in a line. Elaena’s grown to womanhood here with the two of them, woken to the world of desire by her own sisters. Perhaps that would have been an odder thing were they not Targaryens. Daena’s own brother had been her husband, a tradition among their family for as long as they’ve existed, and yet he’d refused to touch her, no matter how she attempted to seduce him, to tempt him, even to shame him.

What Baelor had refused, his sisters are eager to take, and the knowledge gives Daena no small amount of vindictive pleasure.

“It’s strange to think of leaving,” Elaena muses. “I’ve wanted to be free for so long, but at the same time, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.” Her fingers toy with the heavy pendant that lies between Daena’s breasts. She’s never without it, not in her bath, nor in bed. She thinks she wouldn’t recognize herself if she looked down and didn’t see it. She strokes Elaena’s hair, tangling her fingers with the blunt ends; Elaena has kept it shoulder-length since Baelor confined them here years ago, though her hope that he would free her thus shorn of her great beauty went unfulfilled. The symbolic protest of it is useless now, but Daena understands the solace that defiance can bring. She turns her head to press her lips to Elaena’s, the kiss oddly maternal for all that their nude bodies are pressed together shoulder to toe as Daena slips her tongue between her sister’s lips to drink the wine-soaked sweetness of her mouth. There’s sadness in Elaena’s kiss, a sense of longing. Rhaena would be content to stay here with them all her days, but for Elaena, there is too much world she yearns to discover. It will be hard to see her go, though Daena is no less intent on leaving herself. Daena hopes that day is both soon and far distant.

“Daena,” Elaena sighs into her mouth, her hips pitching against Daena’s own in a mute request. “Please.”

Obligingly, Daena lets her hand drift down Elaena’s breast and belly until it finds the softly furred cleft between her thighs. Elaena is as wet as a ripe peach, and – Daena knows from experience – twice as sweet. She kisses Elaena again, deeply, her tongue mimicking the glide and slip of her fingers in Elaena’s cunt, the swirl and stroke of Rhaena’s tongue in her own. Together, the three of them dissolve into a dewy tangle of limbs, all pale hair and lush flesh, ripe with desire, quivering with pleasure as time stretches into oblivion, a welcome thing in this place of endless hours and days and years.

Daena’s crisis takes her almost violently. She jerks and twitches, alternately pulling Rhaena close and pushing her away. When the last wave of pleasure finally subsides, she blinks open her eyes to find Rhaena braced over Elaena beside her, their kiss nearly desperate, their hands stretched to stroke each other to their own crises. It is another thing they share; no one of them peaks without bringing the others. Daena permits herself a smug smile. Perhaps someday she’ll tell Baelor precisely what he wrought here by imprisoning them together.

Or perhaps she’ll only let him wonder.


End file.
